


Remembering a Friend

by Erikthonius



Series: The Collected Funeral Musings of Nico di Angelo [4]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Heroism, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, LGBTQ Themes, Losing a friend, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erikthonius/pseuds/Erikthonius
Summary: Nico's best friend is a hero in his own right.
Relationships: Mitchell/Connor Stoll, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace
Series: The Collected Funeral Musings of Nico di Angelo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599559
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Remembering a Friend

I felt it happen. The feeling wasn’t like a stab in the heart or a blow to the head. It was like something precious to me had been snatched from my hands. He didn’t die fighting monsters or rescuing innocents. It was so stupid. He’d been crossing the street, and some asswipe blew through the light.

He probably didn’t even look before he stepped off the curb. Mitchell was so easily distracted. He may have seen a hairdo that caught his eye, or been thinking about one of his cases. Either way, he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the car had come into the intersection too fast, and it sent him flying, The report said he’d struck his head with so much force that he’d died instantly, too fast for anyone to do anything, and the driver had taken off like a bat out of hell. (What does that even mean? My father doesn’t keep bats as pets. He prefers owls and rams. Great. Now I’m rambling. Damn, this really hurts.)

It was a stupid move. Everybody has a cell phone. (Well, everybody else does.) Pictures of his car were everywhere. Especially telling were the “Family Values” and “Choose Life” bumper stickers. He was picked up by the police in New Jersey. He didn’t know how lucky he was that he didn’t make it to the next town over, since Michael Kahale was on the force there, and I know that Michael made it a point to look out for Greek as well as Roman demigods, especially children of Venus and Aphrodite, regarding them all as family. Michael was a good cop and an honorable man, but that can only go so far when it’s family.

That night, Connor showed up at our place. Unsurprisingly, he was a wreck. Will mixed him a drink. And then another. And then another. We told him he wasn’t in any shape to go out, so he could stay in our guest room. We put him to bed. I was a little surprised that three drinks had him falling down, usually he could handle more than that, but then Will told me he’d added a little sleeping draught to the last one. He said he knew Hermes boys, and he knew Connor specifically. He was afraid that Stoll would try to find the asshole who’d killed his Mitchell and do something horrible to him.

I looked at his sleeping form and thought about Mitchell. In many ways, he had been my best friend. Yeah, I was friends with Percy and Annabeth; we’d been through so many quests together, how could we not be friends? I was certainly friends with Alex and Magnus, even though they were literally from a different world. I treasured my relationship with most of the Apollo cabin (gods, the crazy things we’d done together), but they were family. Jason had been my friend, but he’d died so young. Of course the bond I’d forged with Reyna and Coach Hedge was unique, but my friendship with Mitchell was different.

There was none of the ‘comrades-in-arms saving the world yet again’ that I had with so many others. With Mitchell, I’d shared parts of myself that nobody else was allowed to see, not even Hazel, not even Will. Mitchell, more than anybody else, had taught me how to be comfortable being gay. He was so at ease with it, so sweet about it, hard to believe when you knew how awful it had been for him growing up in the foster system. He got bullied, he got thrown out of foster homes for it, and he never lost the sense that it was something wonderful to be, a source of joy and power.

He taught me how to love that part of myself, how to enjoy it, how to be really campy without ever being false. He taught me how to turn my anti-social brooding into style. Most importantly, he taught me how to accept that I was worthy of love, not in spite of being ‘different’ but because of that difference. I think that Will knew that, and he was ever grateful to Mitchell for it.

The thing is, Mitchell was never what you’d call brave in the standard sense. He avoided battles as much as any demigod could. He never went on a quest. I loved the boy, but for all his grace and skill on the dance floor, he couldn’t hold a sword to save his life, he was a fair shot with a bow, but he refused to fire at any living target except when under attack. He always said his weapon of choice was his rapier-like wit. I have to say, I saw him reduce more than one bully to tears with his cutting remarks.

All that aside, I knew that he was about to face the judges of the Underworld now, and I couldn’t let them sentence him to the Fields of Asphodel just because he’d never performed any deeds of heroism. My dear sweet friend was not going to fade into oblivion if I had anything to say about it. I didn’t know who was on the judges’ panel today, but surely the word of the son of the Lord of the Underworld carried some weight.

“Will,” I said to my husband, “look after Connor. There’s something I have to do.”

Will smiled wanly at me. “You’re going to plead Mitchell’s case for him, aren’t you?” My Will, he knew me too well. “May all the gods grant you success.” He kissed me and stood in front of the fireplace to provide a shadow for me to step into.

=====

Mitchell’s POV (As related to me later during our journey)

So I was crossing Newbury Street, coming back from a coffee run. I was a little distracted, because I had this new case, this poor kid had run away from his parents because they had been sending him to this “conversion program” run by this creep who claimed to be all about “pray away the gay,” but was actually more about the “beat away the gay.” But at any rate, I waited for the light to change before I crossed, because you know Boston drivers. Anyway, I’m looking at the first volume of Ten Count, because this kid loves manga, and I figure he can use some with positive gay images after what he’s been raised with. 

At any rate, I don’t see this butt-brain run the light until he’s coming right at me, so he smacks into me, sending me flying backward. I feel my head hit something really hard, then I black out. When I come to, I’m lying on the street, but I’m kind of numb. Then somebody takes my hand to help me up. The dude is smoking hot. (I’m married, not blind.) Naturally, I take a better look. What I see is not good. He’s got wings, black wings. Great! First I get hit by a car, next I’m sucked into demigod business. I mean this guy can’t be a monster. Monsters just aren’t that gorgeous.

Hot dude says nothing, just points down. What I see next is so not good. It’s me, still lying face down, but the back of my head is smashed in, like really badly. Then I realized who hot dude is. I know it’s bad luck to say their names, but I have to.

“You’re Thanatos.” Dude says nothing, just nods. “So I’m…” Another nod. I start to panic. Connor! Oh gods, Connor! He’ll freak. “I need to get a message to Connor! Can I… can I...wait I know. Nico. Nico di Angelo. He’s your boss’s son. Can I call him?” 

Dude just shakes his head. Then he pulls me by the hand, and I can’t refuse him. I don’t know where exactly he’s taking me, but then I see Connor’s dad, Hermes. He looks at Thanatos, then he looks at me. The look on his face when he recognizes me is unreadable, but it’s nothing good. Now I’ve met Hermes a couple of times. He came to our wedding, for gods’ sake! He never came to our house, but Connor worked for his shipping company, so once in a while I’d see him at company parties. Now usually, he had that grin that all his children would wear, you know, the one that would instinctively make you check your pockets to make sure your wallet was still there, the one that Connor had, the one that I fell in love with.

Well, not today. Maybe he didn’t wear that grin when he was doing his psychopomp thing, you know, conducting souls to the Underworld, or maybe he was pissed off at me for, I don’t know, leaving his son in the lurch, like dying was my plan. I figure, I won’t ask him what’s bothering him. If I’ve learned nothing else as a minor demigod, I’ve learned not to poke at pissed off gods. I’m not Percy freaking Jackson, for Pete’s sake. So I follow him in silence. He’s holding his caduceus up in front of him, and I think I might at least make small talk with George and Martha, the snakes on his wand. I got along well enough with them, but when they were in wand form, they weren’t very talkative. One of them, probably Martha, she was always the friendlier, winks at me.

My luck seems to pick up at this point. George’s eyes start to flash, and he says, “Messages incoming, boss. I think you’ll like these.”

Hermes says, “Go to cell mode with maximum extension. Always lousy reception underground.”

The wand converts to a cell phone, and George and Martha are the antennae, extended to their fullest. I wave to them. George calls out, “Mitchie! Oh, dude, it’s you. I was hoping the rumors were wrong.” Then Hermes gives the phone a shake, and George says, “Sorry, man, gotta get back to work. We got a lot incoming.

Hermes studies the messages, and his scowl lessens. Finally he turns to me and there’s just a tiny smile on his face. “Good news,” is all he says. Then he turns away, just leading me on.

Now normally, I could never keep up with his pace, you know god of speed, winged sandals and all, but somehow, since I’m just a dead soul, I stick to him like glue. We come to a dock, and there’s this tall thin guy wearing a suit, a nice suit, but totally last year’s cut. He holds up a bony hand and says, “No fare, no passage,” but Hermes waves him off, saying, “This is family. I’m taking him all the way myself.”

Tall guy does not look pleased, but he doesn’t try to stop us when Hermes grabs my hand, and we fly over the river. I’m deposited in front of a table where three old guys wearing black robes and those curly wigs like from British movies. I figure they must be the judges. Great. I never did anything that heroic. I mean, I fought, if you can call it that, in the Battle of the Labyrinth and the Battle of Half Blood Hill, but that was mostly support. I mean, I sucked at swordwork, and my archery was okay on a good day, but never with a moving target. Then, out in the world, I mean, I did my job, but that was mostly just helping troubled kids. I had no regrets at spending my life that way, but it wasn’t like I’d prevented the end of the world twice or almost killed myself carrying a giant statue around the world to make peace between the two camps like some people I know. I’d never even killed a monster, like Connor. (And he did that like twenty times armed with nothing but a slingshot.) I figure I was bound for the Fields of Asphodel.

Just then I heard a voice I guess I’d been half hoping for.

=====  
Nico’s POV

I saw him standing before the judges. I was happy that Minos wasn’t hearing his case. That could never have gone well. I recognized Learned Hand and Socrates, but I didn’t know the third one. I called out Mitchell’s name. He came over, crying “Gurrlfriend!” Gods, I was afraid I’d never hear that again. We hugged. Then Learned Hand spoke. Evidently, he was presiding over this case. Good to know.

“Ghost King, with all due respect, we would like to begin.”

I nodded respectfully. (If I was going to beg a favor, being polite was the only way to go.)

He continued, turning to my friend. “Mitchell Stoll, we have reviewed your life. There is nothing meriting punishment of any sort, but we find no evidence meriting Elysium. Therefore, it is the decision of this court that you be sent to the Fields of Asphodel.”

My throat tightened at the thought of this sweet, kind boy wandering aimlessly for all eternity, slowly losing all sense of himself. I approached the bench, my head bowed. “Your Honors,” I began, “if I might beg a favor.”

Before I could continue or they could respond, Hermes stepped in front of me, saying, “Your pardon, cousin, but I believe I have more evidence to present to the court.”

Judge Hand indicated that he should make his presentation. Hermes put his cell phone on the bench and gestured to it. It expanded into a 50 inch flat screen, two snakes swimming in a circle on the screen.

“Enough of the logo,” the god snapped. “Present the supplications.”

The screen changed to a woman kneeling in front of a row of votive candles. I didn’t recognize the specific church, but I’d recalled that scene so often from my childhood. The woman was praying, “Holy Virgin Mother, I saw the news. I can’t believe that he died. It was only through him that my son was saved from suicide or a horrible death on the streets and returned to me. Holy Virgin, please, welcome him to your loving arms this very night.”

Mitchell looked in surprise. “That was Steve Cannizario’s mother. That was one of my first cases. She threw him out when she found out he was gay. I spent a month talking to her, He was on the street, turning tricks to get by, but I convinced her to take him back, and then she founded a group for parents of LGBT+ at St. Dorothy’s. Gods, she was a sweet lady once we broke through.”

The scene on the screen changed. This time, it was a young girl with long dreadlocks and a heart shaped face. She was also in front of a candle, but this one was a voodoo candle, like the ones you’d see in a bodega. She was also praying. “I can’t believe he died. Mitchell didn’t deserve to die. Baron Samedi, if he hadn’t helped me find the resources to transition, I don’t know. Maybe I’d be the one in the obituaries. Baron, take him to your paradise, I beg you.”

Mitchell recognized this one as well. “Sherry. She was such a sweet kid, once she’d come to terms with being trans. Oh, Sherry, baby, don’t cry for me!”

Next the scene showed a candlelight procession on Newbury Street. I recognized it as being the local PFLAG chapter. Will had spoken to them a few times about how to find and choose doctors who were good with LGBT+ issues. Occasionally, one of them would offer a prayer or a recollection about how Mitchell had rescued one of their friends or family. There were also formerly homeless kids with them who would offer similar prayers and recollections. Mitchell recognized each and everyone of them and had a few words about each.

Hermes paused the scene. “Your Honors, I can continue with several hours more, but is this sufficient?”

The three judges had a brief hushed conversation, and Learned Hand said, “Lord Hermes we have seen enough and reached a decision. Please escort this fallen hero to the place in the Elysian Fields that he has so richly earned by saving so many lives. Unless, son of Hades, you have anything to add.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat before saying, “No, Your Honors, there is no eloquence I can add to what we’ve just seen.”

[Note to self, as per Hermes request, I am redacting the next section before this goes to the publisher.]

Hermes turned to me, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He caught the tear, which had crystallized into a pearl, and handed it to me. “Cousin, I have urgent business elsewhere. Please do me the favor of conducting my son-in-law to his final destination. I know that you are familiar with the roads here, but should anyone or anything bar your way, present this token of my authority.”

[End of redacted section]

Hermes vanished. Mitchell and I chatted as easily as we always did as we walked along the road to Elysium. “You came for me,” he said smiling.

“Well, I couldn’t let my best friend wander aimlessly. But I guess you didn’t need my help.”

“Oh gurrlfriend, I may never need your help, but I always need your company.”

“Right back at you, gurrlfriend. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to visit much. At least not while I’m alive. But after that, we’ll have all the time we want to hang out.”

“Ooh, confident much?” There was that gentle joking in Mitchell’s tone that I loved so much.

“Well, there are advantages to being the boss’s son,” I said snarkily. He made to punch my shoulder, but his fist passed insubstantially through my shoulder.

“Try it again when you’re inside your new residence,” I told him. Then he told me about his experiences getting to the Underworld, first with Thanatos, then with Hermes.

By then, we’d arrived at the gates to the Fields of Elysium. I knew that if I demanded it, they would let me in, but instead, I held up the pearl Hermes had given me, and the gate opened easily. When we stepped inside, I hugged Mitchell, and he was pleased to see that he was solid again.

Then he said, “I don’t think Will will mind just this once,” and he kissed me. It was on the lips, but it was still a chaste kiss. Then he said, “Please, Nico, look after Connor. He’ll need it.”

“Mitchell, I swear it.” As the entire Underworld, even this fair place was shadow in a way, I could get home immediately, but before I did, I said, “Hey, play with my dog sometimes. He gets lonely. Just be sure to wear your waterproof make-up when you do. He’s a drooler.”

He gave me one more hug, and then I stepped into the ever present shadow and re-appeared in my own living room. Will was waiting for me, a look of concern on his face.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“Better than I could ever have hoped. How’s Connor doing?” He liked the smile on my face, but he still looked concerned.

“Not good. As soon as he woke up, he swore he was going to find the guy that did it and cut his throat. I got him to settle down for a while, and then…” he gestured at the open door to the guest room, and I heard arguing.

“My son, you must not do this!” It was Hermes. “You must not spill mortal blood. It is forbidden.”

“I don’t care about your precious laws! He took my Mitchie away from me. That’s more precious than any of your laws,” Connor shouted at his father.

“No! I will not lose another son to darkness!” Hermes shouted back. I could almost hear the tears in his voice. Then, the cleverness that was his divine power came through. “He has done grave insults to my family. He took something precious from us and then flew away as if it were nothing. My son, your deviousness does me proud, but I have had millenia to learn torments beyond what you could ever conceive. Let me do this for you as a final blessing to your beautiful husband.”

Connor nodded. He knew what his father was capable of. Hermes turned to me, “Son of Hades,” he said, “offer what comfort and council you can to my poor son.” Then he vanished. I didn’t know what he planned for the guy who’d killed Mitchell, and I didn’t want to ever find out, but Connor needed me now.

“Conn,” I said, taking his hand. “I just saw Mitchell. He’s in Elysium now, and he’ll wait for you, but you can’t get there by commiting murder,” then I saw the look on his face, “or suicide. Just be heroic, and when it’s your time, you’ll be back together.”

=====  
AFTERWARD: Connor’s End

In the time after Mitchell’s death, Connor acquired a sizable fortune, but when he reached ninety four million, he gave the whole thing away. (He told me that seemed appropriate, since nine was sacred to Aphrodite, and four to Hermes.) A fair amount went to Chase Space, of course, since Mitchell had loved his job there, but a lot of groups that supported LGBT+ youth found their balance sheets looking very good that year. Then he went underground. A lot of politicians who’d built their careers on gay and trans bashing found their dirty secrets were out in the open. Gods, it seemed like 90% or more of those secrets involved hiring escort boys. So predictable. It wasn’t hard for me to figure out which son of Hermes was behind these exposures.

After that, Connor went on a monster killing vendetta. Not all monsters, just those who were heard to make homophobic remarks. What was the Laestrygonians’ damage? I just ignored their frat boy cries of “pansy son of Hades,” that came up in every fight with them. Turning them to glittering dust with my black sword seemed the only response to that bullshit, but Connor took it to the next level. He went after that sad pack of frat boys without restraint or caution, and news of his death came quickly. Will’s and my only comfort of that came in a dream that I had a week after he’d gone. 

There it was, the dream image. Mitchell and Connor, locked in an afterlife kiss, with that goofy dog photobombing the image, drool pouring out of all three of his mouths.


End file.
